


bros cuddle, right?

by blindbatalex



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Such Little Angst, accidental roommates, but not too much, honestly i didnt know i could do that, okay there is some homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22758382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindbatalex/pseuds/blindbatalex
Summary: “Well,” Charlie continues without waiting for an answer.  “I had this captain once, right, in college?  Really boring guy, bland as paint drying on a wall, but he usually knew what he was talking about and he told me, in no uncertain terms, that bros cuddle when a bro needs it.  So.”Or, the many times Matt and Charlie shared a bed over the years.
Relationships: Matt Grzelcyk/Charlie McAvoy
Comments: 17
Kudos: 146





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if they do overnight trips in college hockey but the story demands it so let's pretend that they do!

Matt is a senior at BU the first time it happens, the captain of the hockey team. Charlie is a freshman and they are playing out-of-town. Coach has implemented a system that year where seniors room with freshmen on the road. ‘It is to integrate the team better,’ he has said, but privately it’s because the rookie class is too much on their own--too raucous for their own good--so they need to be babysat. Charlie is Matt’s rookie. Charlie probably doesn’t need to be babysat.

He does have a monster crush on Matt however, which he is trying and mostly failing to hide, which makes their current predicament something of an issue.

You see, there has been a mix-up at the hotel, and the room they are supposed to share that night has one full bed rather than two individual ones, and of course as luck would have it, it’s the only free room left.

“I will of course sleep on the floor,” Charlie says the moment they get in, automatically, standing ramrod straight and looking terrified.

Matt sighs discreetly. He doesn’t have enough energy for this, and yet he is the captain. He must at all times be supportive and responsible.

“Nope. Can’t afford to have you fuck up your back.”

Color is high on Charlie’s cheeks. It’s gotten a little bit better now compared to when they first found out in the lobby but his nostrils still flare with the occasional breath.

“Hey, dude,” he says so quickly that it sounds like a single word-- _heydude_. “There is no way I am letting _you_ sleep on the floor when you _already_ fucked up your back.”

Matt looks at him from across the other side of the bed that is separating them like a great chasm. He explains that first off, he _pulled_ a muscle, and second, this is why neither of them should sleep on the floor in the first place. 

“We share the bed,” he concludes, “and no one’s back has to get fucked up.”

Charlie’s eyes open wider than should be possible for a human being at that. He starts to take in a breath, stops, stares at Matt—incredulous. 

It would have been nice if the guys laid low on the banter some. Matt knows they don’t mean anything by their jokes. He knows they have _no idea_ at the very least, but he doesn’t think Charlie does.

The poor kid is scared within an inch of his life.

Matt fixes Charlie with a look and raises an eyebrow, to try and approach this a different way.

“We are bros, right?” 

Colin, his boyfriend, calls this Matt’s ‘captain’s voice’--the way it is patient and calm but not brokering any argument. Colin will annoy him or subtly miss a point on purpose sometimes to get him to use it because it’s incredibly sexy too, apparently. It’s still better than when he picks two brands of liquid detergent at the supermarket, as if he can’t decide which to buy, just to get Matt to monologue on the benefits and drawbacks of each, because Matt is apparently also sexy when he is boring.

“Yeah.”

“Should bros let one of them get hurt because they are too awkward to sleep in the same bed?”

Charlie looks at him, unblinking, for two full seconds. 

“No?”

Matt shakes his head. 

“No.”

There, that wasn't too bad now, was it?

He throws a pillow at Charlie before he goes to his bag to find sweatpants, and with a grin tells him they will be just fine as long as Charlie doesn’t try to snuggle with him at night.

*

He lives to regret this last comment, however.

Because once they have turned off the lights, Charlie lies perfectly still in the dark, afraid to so much as move an inch in Matt’s direction. Matt can hear him breathing, one careful, measured breath followed by another.

“Charlie?”

“Yeah?” Charlie squeaks, voice hitting a high note.

“You know you can move around in the bed, right? I am not going to murder you if our hands touch accidentally.”

He pokes Charlie’s ankle with his big toe to demonstrate his point.

“Right,” Charlie says but he does not sound convinced.

 _I hate being a captain sometimes_ , he texts Colin who is saved as ‘Elizabeth’ in Matt’s phone, a name he chose himself because, he explained, if he was a girl he would obviously be a queen.

His phone buzzes almost immediately.

 _No you don’t_ , the text reads, followed by _I love you._

Matt shakes his head, smiles to himself, and deletes both texts.

“If you continue lying there still as a corpse I will come and cuddle you myself,” he tells Charlie sternly, who still hasn’t moved a finger.

“Right.” 

Charlie laughs this time and turns to lie on his side.

Good.

***

The second time it happens they are in a hotel room with two separate beds as it’s meant to be.

Matt wakes up in the middle of the night to find Colin wrapped up around his back, with an arm around Matt’s middle and chin tucked into Matt’s neck. He is hot as a furnace. It makes no sense because Colin _hates_ cuddling when they are sleeping, and as Matt groans, it makes less sense because Colin is not on the hockey team and hence not on this road--

Matt sits up and swings his elbow out against the not-Colin. 

“The fuck?!”

There _is_ a person there, though, because his elbow connects with something soft followed by an _oof!_ , followed by Charlie finding his way out from under the covers.

Charlie. He is on the road and sharing a room with Charlie.

“Hey man, what the fuck?” Matt asks again, still trying to blink sleep out of his eyes.

Charlie stares at him for a long moment, uncomprehending, as if he is trying to place where he is in that dazed way players will look around the ice after a head hit. His cheeks are flushed and perspiration dots his forehead.

Then a light switch goes off in his head.

He scrambles backwards with so much force that he hits his head against the bedpost. He winces in pain, but doesn’t stop.

“I- _huh_ ,” he says quickly, frowning, gesturing with his hands. “It’s not what it looks like. You are uh- a radiator. So, that’s why.”

There is an unfocused look in Charlie’s eyes, even now, which-

“Are you drunk?"

He ought to know better than that.

Charlie nods quickly, his pink, chubby cheeks jiggling slightly with the motion.

“Yeah.”

Jesus.

“Charlie-” Matt starts.

That’s not like Charlie and it’s not professional, either, not when they have a game to play tomorrow, let alone the inappropriateness of cuddling your d-partner against his will in his sleep.

Charlie shakes his head, as if a thought just occurred to him.

“No, well- not on alcohol. Didn't drink. I am- drunk on life. Yeah. You know?”

Matt does not know what he means. But then Charlie shivers, hugging himself to rub some warmth into his arms, and a light switch goes off in Matt’s head as well.

He reaches out to place his hand on Charlie’s forehead and yep-

“Your hand is so cold,” Charlie complains.

“That’s because you are burning up, buddy.”

Charlie’s skin is hot as a furnace; he must be running a temperature of at least 102F, which explains- well, everything.

Matt reaches for his phone. He finds coach’s number—they need to bring Charlie’s temperature down, quite possibly by taking a trip to the ER.

“So you are saying I’m _hot_?” Charlie asks, grinning dopily.

Matt snorts without meaning to. With damp hair sticking to his scalp, his unfocused eyes, and pink cheeks, Charlie looks like a feverish chipmunk.

But he also looks mortally hurt when Matt says as much. He pouts, reaches his hand for Matt, before he lets it drop on his lap like he has thought better of it.

“A _cute_ chipmunk,” Matt concedes as he dials.

He gets rewarded to the biggest smile from Charlie at that, stretching from one ear to the next.

*

Matt pulls himself up to sit next to Charlie on the bed once he has talked to the coach who said he’d give the team doctor and trainers a call and they would come to their room. Charlie rests his head on his shoulder and sighs, but only for a moment. He draws back in the next, with an ‘oh’ as if he just remembered.

“It's okay.” Matt smiles gently and gestures with his hand to his shoulder and that turns out to be all the invitation Charlie needs, because he settles his head on Matt's shoulder again with a sigh.

Even Charlie’s head feels hot, through his t-shirt--poor kid. 

“You are going to be okay,” Matt tells him, stroking Charlie’s arm with his thumb. Nasty fever, but they should be able to bring it down, fix his rookie.

“'m more than okay,” Charlie mumbles happily into his t-shirt. “You are soft. Radiator pillow. ‘love you.”

He sounds so earnest, Matt can’t help but laugh a little. It’s a good thing they are rooming together. It’s a good thing that he was the one with Charlie tonight, the object of Charlie’s affections, and not one of the other guys. Charlie will still feel embarrassed in the morning, if he remembers, but with him, he is safe.

He deserves better than this. They both do.

“Yeah? Bet you say that to all radiator pillows.”

“Nope.” Charlie sounds offended, almost. “Just you.”

****

Charlie gets drafted to the Bruins. 

When he calls Matt, he is so all over the place with excitement and joy that Matt can’t stop himself from having a little fun.

“Thought you hated the Bruins,” he says evenly.

That was after all the first thing he heard out of Charlie’s mouth at the beginning of the year, when he walked into the room the new members of the team had gathered. Charlie had stopped and stared at him with that endearing mix of confused and apologetic when he saw Matt.

“I’ve seen the error of my ways,” he says primly now and Matt smiles on his end of the line, with the memories of his draft year. Charlie’s joy is infectious—besides, he is a damn good defenseman and the kind of kid Matt wants on his team, any day of the week. 

“And,” Charlie adds, voice just a little dreamy, “we might get to play together for years and years.”

*

_That_ , only lasts until training camp. Charlie takes one look at Bergy and whatever crush he had on Matt is replaced in an instant with the angelic beauty of number 37.

Matt has seen this happen to a few prospect classes at this point and has to try hard to keep himself from bursting out laughing. Brad is a lot less subtle—he starts a timer when Patrice introduces himself to Charlie with a smile that is too beautiful for this world and he is grinning ear to ear when he stops it 10.3 seconds later, that is, when Charlie remembers how to speak.

“What was that about?” Charlie asks much later, when he has regained full use of his faculties.

Matt claps him on the back and tells him sometimes it’s better not to know.

*

Charlie comes to his games in Providence with some of the other guys from the BU team. 

He gets Matt to toss him a puck during warm-ups one time. Watching him act like a kid who got a puck from Sidney Crosby himself and thereby draw the ire of all the actual children around him, Matt laughs as he skates away. He is only human.

Another time, he manages to get their group seated right next to Colin and nearly gives Matt a heart attack when he looks up at the stands during a break and sees them deep in conversation. 

“We ran into one of your friends!” Charlie says happily after the game while Colin gives him his best ‘I’m innocent please love me,’ smile.

“He’s a good one, that kid,” Colin tells him later as he makes breakfast for both of them.

“Which one?”

Colin, who is terrible with names, is thoughtful for a moment before he says “Cheeks?”

His boyfriend has never been more right.

*

They get to play together in Providence the next year even if it’s only for a few games, and Matt has missed this. He gets along with pretty much all the guys, but there is something special about having Charlie’s presence in the locker room, his talent on the ice. It is especially so, now that Charlie no longer looks like he might have a secret diary somewhere with hearts drawn around _48_ s and _Matt_ s.

He _might_ still have a journal with hearts drawn around 37s but—who doesn’t, in his defense. 

*****

And _then_ , before they know it, they are both rookies with the Boston Bruins. 

Even to say it out loud is fantastical; it still feels like a dream Matt will wake up from some days—to play on the same team with Patrice Bergeron and Zdeno Chara, Brad Marchand, Tuukka Rask and so many others, to wear the spoked-B on his chest day after day.

It doesn’t feel like a dream the day they fly to Colorado, however. That day feels like a nightmare.

“You wanna talk about it?” Charlie asks, the moment the door clicks shut behind them. 

They have gone back to rooming together, now that they are both on the first team. Matt does not want to talk about it. He also thought he was doing a semi-decent job of keeping it together, but- apparently not.

“I’m that obvious, huh?” he chuckles, looking at the perfectly made bed. All he wants to do is to throw himself face down on it, suit and all, and not move for the next ten hours, but that may be less than wise re: not giving Charlie any more cause to stage an intervention involving Zee at the best case scenario and Bruce at the worst.

Charlie grimaces.

“You shouldn’t be an actor when you are done with hockey.” 

But then he adds, almost like an afterthought, “don’t think others could tell though. I have spent too much time with you.”

“No such thing as too much time with me.” 

Matt shrugs out of his suit jacket and loosens his tie. 

His emotions have been all over the place and that’s why, but his heart squeezes a little bit in his chest—he has known Charlie for years and Charlie is the one constant in his life, even as the rest of it seems to be crumbling underneath his feet.

He thought Colin was another constant, but.

“Different question-” Charlie interrupts his wallowing. “Tell me what I can do to make it better.”

Matt laughs at that. It comes out more bitter than he means it to be.

He looks at Charlie, apologizing with his eyes. 

Now that he has stripped of his suit and found a t-shirt from his bag, he can finally crawl into bed, brushing his teeth be damned.

“Not a whole lot, but, if you can turn back time or want to cuddle up, that would be nice.”

Colin, you see—whom Matt dreamt of proposing to—broke up with him this morning. The morning started sleepy and familiar, like it always did at Colin’s place, with the smell of freshly made coffee and slippers padding on hardwood floors. Then Matt saw him making a Facebook post at the kitchen table which included both the words ‘hockey’ and ‘boyfriend.’ It started a fight—an argument they had many times before—except this time at the end of it, Colin stood up and said ‘I can’t do this anymore.’ He shook his head and told Matt he was tired being a dirty secret, tired of being something to be ashamed of—as if he had ever been that. And that was it. Four years down the drain, just like that-

The bed dips on the other side. Matt returns to earth and finds Charlie to be the culprit, where he too seems to be crawling under the covers of Matt’s bed.

“Charlie-?”

“Yep.”

“What are you doing?”

Charlie comes to a stop a few centimeters away from Matt and gives him a matter-of-fact look.

“You said you wanted to cuddle. We are cuddling.”

“I-” Matt stares at him. “Didn’t- mean it like that. I was joking. This- you don’t need to.”

It was a figure of speech. Charlie must have known it was a figure of speech. 

Charlie remains unmoved, however, both figuratively and literally. His eyes, his voice, are friendly when he speaks but not accepting any argument, the way a parent's would be when telling a beloved child it's bedtime.

“We are bros, right?”

Matt stares at him some more. Is he actually using _Matt’s_ captain’s voice—his words—against him?

“Well,” Charlie continues without waiting for an answer. “I had this captain once, right, in college? Really boring guy, bland as paint drying on a wall, but he usually knew what he was talking about and he told me, in no uncertain terms, that bros cuddle when a bro needs it. So.”

He raises his arm, inviting Matt in. He is smiling. His face is open, kind—soft, and not just because he still has the chipmunk cheeks all these years later.

“I-” Matt says, lost for words. 

He remembers that morning—when he stayed with Charlie in the ER until they got his temperature under control. Matt was going to leave the room to give him the privacy to change when they were ready to release him but Charlie had stopped him with an “um. Matt.”

His eyes were firmly fixed at the linoleum floor when Matt turned around, color high on his face.

“About last night-” he had said quietly, “what I did-”

That was when, himself exhausted and in need of coffee, Matt had come up with that spiel about bros cuddling.

That was different, though. Charlie was terrified, ashamed, when he looked up and tentatively met Matt’s eyes. He was a freshman and he was sick and his well-being was Matt’s responsibility.

Matt isn’t Charlie’s responsibility. He can’t be expected to—what? hold him? —because Matt is a little sad.

"Come on my arm is getting tired," Charlie cajoles. 

Matt takes in a deep breath. It is not of much use.

“You need to know that there is a really good chance I will cry into your shoulder,” he says at last, past the lump in his throat, voice already cracking. “And then I will get snot all over your t-shirt.”

Charlie doesn't deserve that at the very least.

“Mmm, I think I can live with that bro.”

He sounds—fuck, he sounds so very genuine—his arm is still open, and Matt is- He is exhausted and he has started crying, sobs wracking his body, before his head even finds Charlie’s shoulder.

Charlie holds him, rubs his palm across Matt’s back, his neck, strokes his hair.

You see, this morning Matt marched to his parents’ home, shell-shocked and furious after the break-up, and when his dad asked what was wrong, he did something he never had before in his life: He told him. And now he isn’t sure if he has a place to live in when they fly back. 

The man he loves, has always loved, said he was a waste of time, his dad said- He doesn’t even want to think of what his dad said and he had to show up to practice, board a plane and play cards and joke with the guys as if nothing happened.

And still, here is Charlie, shushing him, telling him it’s going to be okay, even pressing a kiss into his hair, all the while his arms keeping Matt from falling apart.

He doesn’t know what he has done to deserve a friend like him.

*

“I take offense to being compared to drying paint,” Matt tells him, once he has calmed down enough for words. They slid in bed so they are mostly lying down now. Matt’s head is still pillowed on Charlie’s chest, and Charlie’s arm is still wrapped fast around his shoulders. His words get muffled by Charlie’s t-shirt, that is now damp with snot and tears just like Matt predicted.

Charlie laughs softly.

“Listen man, I am only telling you the facts. But you are like, a calm beautiful beige coat of paint if that makes it any better.”

Matt pokes him viciously in the stomach and gets rewarded to an “ _ow!_ ” in return.

“My boyfriend broke up with me,” he says then, out of the blue.

Charlie tenses as what Matt said sinks in, but then his hands are rubbing Matt's back again, holding him even closer.

“Matt, I am so so sorry.”

Charlie’s voice isn’t any louder than a whisper, and Matt is sorry too, but here in Charlie's arms the day's events feel less like they are going to tear him apart limb by limb.

So Matt tells him—about Colin, about everything. He tells Charlie about his dad.

"Don't know if I have a place to go back to when we fly back to Boston," he admits at the end into the dark.

It will be a hassle to find somewhere mid-season and even more so to do it without telling the org, because that is not a conversation he would like to have.

Charlie is quiet for a long moment, just holding him, holding him in one piece.

And then he says-

"You could move in with me."

*

It turns out Charlie's housemate is moving to New York at the end of the month and Charlie said he'd take over the lease rather than deal with a subletter, but, he explains, given Boston rents he is not nearly making enough money on his entry contract for that to be a smart decision.

Matt protests, obviously. Charlie doesn't have to--he doesn't have to do anything, let alone offer Matt a room.

All he gets in turn is a shake of head and a confirmation that Charlie is indeed not doing anything because he _has to_. But they are bros, he has a free room and rent he would like to halve.

Matt doesn't know what to say to that but quietly, gratefully agrees to shack up with him for at least a few days when they get back. Just until he knows what he will do.

****

It’s slightly awkward for the first week, while Charlie’s roommate Kevin is still there. Matt quietly packs a couple of suitcases when his dad is not around. Charlie boasts loudly to Kevin about how Matt lost a bet and now has to sleep on his couch for a week.

First night after Kevin has moved out they sit on the couch in front of the TV, each on one end, drinking beer. Matt is clutching the glass bottle so tightly, his fingers have grown numb. He steals one glance at Charlie, who looks comfortable in his hoodie and with his bare feet up on the coffee table. He takes in a breath, and tells himself to relax, and to focus on the game playing on the TV.

He makes breakfast for Charlie in the morning when he can’t sleep and gets rewarded to the happiest yawn and a fist bump. To quiet conversation at the kitchen table with Charlie’s hair falling into his eyes.

He is pretty lucky, he decides sitting there, in his friends, if not in other areas of life.


	2. Chapter 2

They don’t mean to make cuddling a regular thing.

It’s just that their plane hits terrible weather one week and while the guys all joke about it the moment the plane comes to a stop on the runway, the two of them come to the hotel room shaken. Matt types a text to his dad, deletes it, re-types it and deletes it again before sending it to his mom and calling it quits. _I love you._

Charlie coughs and sighs sharply about twenty minutes after they turned off the lights.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Nope.” 

“You wanna-?” Matt asks, unsure of how he meant to finish the thought.

The answer is almost instantaneous. 

“Yeah.”

So, Matt quietly slips out of his own bed and into Charlie’s and maybe, he knew how he meant to finish his thought all along after all. Charlie sighs again—but it sounds _relieved_ this time, content—and wraps an arm around his middle.

“That was fucking scary,” he whispers.

Matt nods. It was. It feels less so, here, like this.

*

It’s just that, some nights are harder than others.

He wakes up screaming from a nightmare, calling Colin’s name. In his dream, there is a giant snake. Colin is there and Matt lets him get eaten--his eyes are shining with the hurt and betrayal before the jaws close around him. Matt wants to call Colin and apologize. Wants to promise him the world, that he will change, that he will be braver. His hand is trembling where it’s clutching the covers.

Charlie appears at his door, looking disheveled and sleep written all over his face.

“You okay, man?”

“Yeah.”

Needless to say, this is a massive lie. 

Needless to say, Charlie can still read him like an open book.

“Wanna watch TV?” he asks, making it sound a lot more casual than it is.

Matt is grateful for the light and for the company. He nods.

On the couch, he puts one of his arms across the back, and gestures at Matt with his head towards his open arm. They share a look for a couple of seconds, an exchange of _are you sure_ and _is that okay_ taking place without words, and then Matt scoots over, too weak to say no. Too weak, once again, for how strong Charlie makes him feel. How he makes him feel whole. There is freedom—there is strength—that comes from knowing you could fall apart and someone would be there to help you put the pieces back together again.

Charlie’s arm closes around him. He smells of fabric softener and leftover perfume where Matt rests his head on his chest.

They turn on the TV. They don’t speak.

*

It’s just that Charlie gets hurt. Matt got a piece of the defenseman who did it and got a bloody nose to show for it, but none of that helps take away Charlie’s pain. Charlie puts up a brave face for the rest of the guys but here on the couch, he is struggling to keep an ice-pack pressed on his injured shoulder thanks to his bruised ribs. 

He winces, and with a pained hiss, lets the ice-pack slide off.

Matt thinks about sitting on the edge of the couch or on the floor and handling the ice-pack for him. But his arm isn’t long enough to reach Charlie’s left shoulder comfortably from the floor and Charlie isn’t small enough to leave much room on the couch. Besides, he’d be blocking Charlie’s view of the TV.

Then, a different thought occurs to him.

“Here,” he says, gently nudging Charlie, “just lie on my lap.”

Charlie cranes his head to look at him. His eyes are wide as saucers for a moment, lips parted, incredulous in a way that reminds Matt of the freshman he was asked to room with. Then, he smiles.

“That’s a bit much even for us, don’t you think?”

Matt rolls his eyes.

“It’s so that I can hold the ice-pack against your shoulder, dummy, and don’t worry I will get a pillow so you won’t be lying _on my lap_ on my lap.”

Charlie’s eyes flick to the ice-pack now lying forlorn on the couch. When they turn back to Matt, there is a hint of—disappointment? — in them but it’s probably the pain because the drugs haven’t fully kicked in yet.

“Part of being bros, I suppose,” Charlie concedes and Matt goes into his bedroom to fetch a pillow with a grin.

*

Charlie exhales loudly and Matt realizes that he has been running his fingers through Charlie’s hair. He removes his hand, trying to ignore the strange tingling on his fingertips, and apologizes. _That_ is definitely too much, even for bros.

Charlie’s eyes are more than a little glassy when they find Matt’s—that would be the painkillers getting to work. There is a dreamy look to them that reminds Matt of that night in college, when Charlie was sick. The one and only time he has been called a ‘radiator-pillow.’ The first time Charlie told him that he loved him.

“Didn’t tell you to stop,” Charlie croaks.

Matt laughs—out of surprise more than anything. But he lets his hand sink into Charlie’s hair once again too, massaging his scalp in the process.

He smiles when Charlie does--eyes closed, more than half asleep, and perfectly content from the looks of it.

Maybe, he thinks, Charlie is less like a chipmunk and more like a cat. Maybe that is a very strange thing to think.

*

They don’t mean to make cuddling a regular thing.

It’s just that, there are games that go wrong, and games that have them tied up in knots long before the puck drops on the center ice. Charlie puts on a brave face and jokes about before his heart procedure but he is terrified when it’s just the two of them left in the apartment. There are injuries and bad days and through it all, solace in this unspoken little ritual of theirs, as if the other is an anchor tying them to this world.

***

On one such night, Charlie decides that Matt needs to get back in the game.

Matt is lying on the couch with his feet on Charlie’s lap—his left ankle is sore and Charlie is surprisingly decent at giving massages. He may have sighed a little too deeply when lovers united in the movie they are watching. The movie may have been a spy thriller with a terrible het romance that plays about 3% of a role in the plot.

Matt pouts.

“How?”

It’s not like he can walk into the wrong room again, thinking it’s where the hockey team is meeting, only for the guys there to think he was there for the drag show rehearsal. By the time he was able to swallow his shock and get in a word, the lashes of his right eye had never looked so alluring thanks to the mascara someone put on them. Colin, himself in drag, had laughed and laughed. He had helped him take it off too and put his number in Matt’s phone—just so, he had said, he could apologize for the emotional damage his club had caused later.

It seems kind of hard to replicate, as far as sets of circumstances go.

“Are you into guys only or do you swing both ways?”

Matt shrugs. _Technically_ he is bi.

“Okay great,” Charlie says with a grin, “in that case we are getting you a Tinder account, and finding you a cute girl you can hook up with.”

Matt has some reservations, but Charlie has already downloaded the app before he can voice them. He seems happy to just make a profile for Matt too, so Matt lets him, watching him scroll through the photos on his phone to pick the best ones and come up with short blurbs for each field.

Then he writes “boring but in a sexy way” as his profile description.

“Hey!” 

Matt lunges at Charlie to get his phone back. Charlie throws his body in the way to keep it out of reach, so Matt tickles him next—he is not _that_ afraid to play a little dirty when the occasion calls for it.

Charlie is good: he manages to shield the phone even with his eyes tearing up from laughter. Eventually, he concedes however, promising to replace it with something less offensive.

Then comes the fun part of matching. They go through profiles with the phone still in Charlie’s hand and Charlie doing most of the swiping left or right. Before the night is over Matt has matched with five women.

“Now what?” he asks, getting up to brush his teeth.

Charlie rolls his eyes.

Now apparently, he is supposed to message them. 

About what, Matt has no idea.

***

“What about you?” Matt asks Charlie a few days later, just as he matches with a new girl. Her name is Anne. She is a speech therapist, she has a nice smile and apparently likes to play ultimate Frisbee in her spare time.

“What about me?” 

Matt types her a message that says ‘hi, how are you doing tonight? :)’ and looks up from his phone.

“Are you mainly into guys? Do you have someone in your life?”

It occurred to him that he never asked Charlie outright. He is around at the apartment most of the time when they are not on the road, so Matt doesn’t think he is in a committed relationship, but, he should have some clue as to the goings-on of his best friend’s love life.

“Oh.” Charlie smiles. He looks a little sad. “Hockey is my mistress.”

Matt throws him the couch pillow he is leaning on.

“That’s such a bullshit answer. Okay—in that case, anyone you like?”

Charlie shrugs.

“I would have liked to ask Bergy out for just one date but I don’t know whether Stephanie or Brad would murder me first if I did that, so.”

There, he has a point. For what it’s worth, Matt would put his money on Brad.

He turns his attention back to Tinder where Anne has replied to say that she is doing well and to inquire after Matt’s evening. He wonders if online dating is this tiresome for everybody or if it’s just him. He wonders how Charlie knew so much about the app--whether he has been on many Tinder dates.

“If you ever need like, a wingman, I’m here for you, bro.”

Charlie laughs and tells him he will keep that in mind, but in a tone of voice that suggests Matt would make the world’s worst wingman.

***

Matt gets ready for his date with Anne. 

They hit it off talking about ways to cook vegetables and now have plans for drinks. On this front, he owes Zee for supplementing the gaps in Matt’s knowledge where needed—not that Zee seemed to mind. He never minds talking about the benefits of a plant-based diet truth be told, but got especially excited when Matt said it was in the pursuit of romance. 

Matt may be in his twenties but as he gets ready, he feels like one of those characters on TV whose awkwardness gets played for laughs as they attempt to get out there for the first time after years of marriage. Sure, he expects nothing from the night but some pleasant conversation and maybe sex if there is a connection but it _has_ been years since he has been on a first-date.

He sighs and finishes tying his tie, deciding against cancelling on Anne by feigning a cold. 

Charlie is in the living room when he comes out of his room. He looks up from his crossword puzzle and whistles.

“Dude-”

Matt gives his suit a self-conscious look over.

“Is it that bad?”

“I don’t know,” Charlie says. “Are you going for a job interview? Tired of playing hockey maybe?”

Matt huffs and ducks back into his room. When he re-emerges he is wearing the fedora Pasta gave him. Matt was— _is_ —skeptical of the hat to be honest, but Pasta swore by its alleged powers to land any first date as he handed it to Matt with a wink and a clap on the shoulders.

He looks at Charlie to see if his roomie agrees. He doesn’t apparently, judging by the facepalm and the stern ‘no’.

“I think I look quite presentable,” Matt points out, slightly hurt. He took half an hour to decide on this outfit.

“Yes,” Charlie agrees, “if you want to convince this girl to hire you as a teller at a bank.”

“Well, do you have any better ideas or-?”

Charlie stands up, gestures towards Matt’s room.

“Any idea I have will be better than _that_ , so. After you.”

Matt points out he only has fifteen minutes before he has to be out of the house if he will make this date on time. Charlie tells him that’s more than enough time, already opening his closet doors.

*

He throws a few—in Matt’s opinion—mismatched outfits onto the bed, looking at Matt every once in a while like an appraiser examining a gem. He leafs through them when he is done, discarding some on the floor, which Matt objects to because they will get _creased_ but his pleas fall on deaf ears. In the end, he emerges with a pair of skinny jeans and a black shirt.

“Yes,” he says, satisfied, “these will do.”

Matt is not convinced.

“Jeans-?”

For a first date?

Charlie nods. 

“You have nice legs, so showcase them.”

Matt glances at his legs, and then Charlie again, who nods emphatically. 

“Come on dude, I thought you were in a rush.”

Ah. Yes. Matt _is_ in a rush.

Despite his reservations, he decides to trust Charlie’s judgement over his and quickly strips out of his suit which also goes on the bed. _Somebody_ will have to hang all of these clothes.

He buttons up the shirt and looks at himself in the mirror just as Charlie interjects again.

“Bro, not like _that_.”

“Now what?”

These are the clothes he chose, isn’t it?

Charlie takes a step forward so he is standing toe to toe with Matt. For all their snuggling, his presence in Matt’s space is a surprise; his breath on Matt’s neck sends goosebumps across his skin.

Before he can say or do anything, Charlie reaches in, his fingers finding their way to Matt’s throat. Matt swallows involuntarily.

He undoes the first two buttons and steps back. He smirks.

“Not a job interview, remember?”

Matt looks down at the tuft of hair now peeking on his chest, and then at his reflection in the mirror. Charlie turns around too and their eyes meet in the mirror.

“Now don’t look so stunned and smile like you would at a fresh batch of freshmen on first day of hockey camp at BU.”

Matt frowns. He is not sure his captain look is the one he wants to go with on a Tinder date.

“It’s sexy,” Charlie explains with a shrug and a smile that is almost another smirk but not quite. “Trust me.”

Matt turns around sharply to stare at Charlie.

“You didn’t-?”

“Yeah.” Charlie nods and laughs—it’s short but open and genuine, and betrayed a little bit by the hint of color rising on Charlie’s cheeks. “I thought I was in love by the end of that first practice, all thanks to your captain’s voice.”

Charlie, his rookie, with his incredible talent, the cheeks, his professed hatred for the Bruins, and his crush, painfully obvious to Matt and thankfully not to anyone else. It was such a long time ago. He feels so different than the man standing next to him now, his best friend and his rock these past few months.

“Charlie-”

“You,” Charlie gives him a gentle shove on the back towards the door, “are running late. No outfit will save you if you make the poor girl wait for half an hour.”

Right.

Right. Matt nods and heads out.

*

Anne is kind of everything he is looking for in a girl. She is lively (but not _too_ lively), smart, and also hot, in the somewhat revealing blouse she is wearing, a gold necklace gracing her beautiful neck. 

Conversation flows easily.

On paper it’s perfect. It should be perfect.

And yet.

She orders an Old Fashioned and Matt thinks of how Charlie says “that’s what you are” every time Matt orders one. His eyes catch on her long, graceful fingers curled around her drink and he thinks of Charlie’s fingers, undoing the top button of his shirt with dexterity, massaging his shoulder or his ankle when a game has been less than kind. She laughs at one of his less than hilarious jokes and he thinks of how Charlie would have punched him instead.

She asks if they should go back to hers for their next drink and Matt thinks of how you step outside in the spring sometimes, and it starts pouring—how the rain takes over everything you know, everything you can see, how it both comes out of nowhere and feels inevitable.

He makes his excuses and darts out of the bar.

*

He finds Charlie in the living room when he comes back. There is an iPad on his lap now instead of the newspaper and he rises to his feet when he sees Matt.

He frowns.

“Date didn’t go well?”

Matt’s mouth is kind of dry. He stares at Charlie for longer than is socially appropriate, trying to remember how to form words and also how to form those into coherent sentences.

“That bad huh?” Charlie winces. He heads towards the kitchen and calls back. “Want a beer?”

Matt follows after him to catches up by the fridge.

“It’s you.”

You see, he has realized-- it doesn’t matter how perfect Anne is. It doesn’t matter how he can’t recreate his mishaps with the art of drag as a way to meet someone. Like Patrice said the other day, sometimes you are too blind to see what’s right under your nose, what you actually want but—not anymore.

Charlie looks up sharply from where he has leaned into the fridge to get the beers, sending locks of hair flying.

“Don’t tell me she ditched you because of the outfit I chose.”

What?

“What--? No.”

Charlie stares at him from the other side of the still open fridge door, in extreme confusion.

“So then-?”

Matt takes in a deep breath and a small step forward. 

Every important decision he has made in his life, he made after careful deliberation, usually involving at least one pros-and-cons list. He should, here too, he thinks. They are teammates—they are roommates—the internet says he should find a rebound first, something casual, before jumping into another relationship.

Besides, he might have misread the entire thing. But he thinks of how content Charlie was to let him run his fingers through his hair, of Charlie still half-asleep in the morning, Charlie standing in his personal space to fix his outfit, his laughter, and-

“Matt.”

Charlie takes a step closer too so that the fridge door is the only thing separating them. His lips are parted, and he is looking at Charlie with so much hope in his eyes, so much longing, that all doubts Matt had disappear into thin air.

“Are you saying what I think-?”

Matt places his hand on Charlie’s cheek, caressing it with his thumb. His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks.

“Yeah.”

Charlie’s eyes go even wider which--how is that even _possible_ \-- but confusion soon makes way for a delightful grin. He closes the distance between them and crushes their lips together.

Matt kisses him back, heart singing in his chest.

*

To the point that- he forgets.

He draws back from the kiss when he realizes it, just enough to be able to speak.

“Charlie-”

Charlie makes an unhappy noise and leans forward to find his lips again, and Matt has to duck backwards, also quite unhappy to be so far away from Charlie’s mouth.

“Let’s make out over there.”

“What’s wrong with here?”

Matt points at the fridge door that stands between them.

“There is a fridge door standing between us.”

Charlie looks down with surprise as if the door materialized there out of thin air.

“Ah.”

He looks so adorable like this, cheeks pink, but this time for an entirely different reason, Matt finds himself giggling. But not for long, because Charlie is surprisingly quick when he wants to be.

“Oh shut up,” he says, hands already snaking around Matt’s neck and then gets to work, doing just that, when he pushes Matt against the wall and goes back to kissing him.

“We are both so stupid,” Matt points out, in between kisses, but honestly? He can’t say he minds it just right now. 

Not one bit.


	3. EPILOGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A FLUFFY EPILOGUE BECAUSE WHY NOT

Matt’s lying in Charlie’s arms, using his chest as his personal pillow, in a blissful, post-coital haze. They have been doing this for a week and it has been an incredible week.

He can tell that their peace is about to be disrupted, however, from the way Charlie’s muscles tense before he speaks. But if it’s important for him, of course Matt will be here to listen and talk, however uncomfortable the subject matter might be. With what they are doing, they are bound to be uncomfortable more often than not, and the only way out is through.

“So,” Charlie starts, and Matt strokes Charlie’s skin with his thumb back and forth, in lazy, rhythmic motions to tell him it’s okay.

Still, not much could have prepared him for what comes next.

“If we are going to be a thing,” Charlie says quietly, “could I uh- tell some of the guys?”

Matt goes rigid, every muscle drawing taut even at just the suggestion. They are good people, their teammates, it’s not like it was in college, but. This is also their careers on the line. Once something like that is out there you can’t take it back. They can’t.

“I know how you feel,” Charlie adds quickly, “it’s just that- well-” He takes in a breath, “-it _would_ stop Zee from trying to cook a different vegetable dish in our kitchen every other day.”

Zee _has_ been showing up at their place in the afternoon with a big smile and the ingredients for a different healthy but delicious recipe every other day, and giving them these- looks, and talking about how food brings people together as they cook and then disappearing before they can sit down for dinner. It has been odd but he is a better cook than both of them combined, so Matt has just been taking it in stride.

“Charlie,” Matt says, drawing himself up on his elbow to look at his boyfriend’s face. 

“Yeah,” Charlie exhales, not quite meeting his eye.

“Dish.” 

“Well.” Charlie sighs. “My feelings for you kind of returned when you moved in and then we were cuddling all the time? And Zee might have...caught me when I was moping. He wanted to know what was wrong and in a moment of weakness, I told him.” 

“Nothing about you,” he adds quickly. “Just- that I liked you and I didn’t know what to do about it.”

Something twinges in Matt’s chest at the thought of Charlie sad because of him. He leans in to apologize with a kiss. Charlie smiles into it and it settles Matt some.

“And Zee decided the best way to win my heart was through vegetables?” he asks softly.

“Well.”

“Yes?”

“What did you tell him when you were texting with your Tinder date?”

Ah yes, Anne. It was only a couple weeks ago but it feels like a lifetime. He thinks back to their conversation on healthy cooking.

He’d asked Zee for tips on how to best cook eggplants and said it was in the pursuit of romance. Well, specifically said there was someone he wanted to impress, but he didn’t really know what he was doing.

No way.

“Yeah.” Charlie huffs out a laugh. “We never told him you were like, on Tinder and he came to his own conclusions. He was also very proud of me for embracing a healthy lifestyle.”

Oh, God.

Charlie sighs again.

“And he just- keeps asking? Whether there is any progress and it’s really hard to lie to Zee.”

Matt laughs. He lets his head drop back onto Charlie’s chest and laughs and laughs. Their captain has been trying to match-make through vegetables for weeks. He learned that Charlie liked a dude--a _teammate_ \--and thought the best course of action was to do whatever he could to bring them together. Thought _vegetables_ was the way to bring them together.

“Yes,” Matt tells Charlie, once he can talk again. “Let’s tell Zee.”

He imagined every which way coming out to the team--and especially his captain--might go like, but he never would have foreseen this in his wildest dreams. 

It’s kind of- a lovely problem to have, actually.

He lets himself fall back on the bed and curls so that he can once again use Charlie as his personal pillow and radiator, smiling into his chest.

*

It’s only as he is about to fall asleep that a different thought occurs to him.

“But so,” he says, sitting up enough to negate the danger of falling asleep. “Pasta gifted you three different fedoras and he keeps asking me whether I like them.”

Or more like, he keeps asking very leading questions such as ‘don’t you love a man in a fedora,’ and ‘wouldn’t Charlie look amazing in a fedora?’ always accompanied with a wink.

“Yeah,” Charlie says again, his voice betraying his guilt.

And come to think, that’s not it, either. Quite a few of the guys have been acting strangely of late. Patrice cornered him before breakfast on the road to give that speech about how sometimes a person can be too blind to see what’s right under their nose and how he is best friends with his wife--which actually did help Matt realize his feelings for Charlie--and he has monologued (in an angelic, if slightly awkward way) on two separate occasions about how they value and cherish every member of the team. Brad looked him in the eye, hands placed on his shoulders, and told him, in a very intense way to live a little and to take a risk--which at the time he attributed to Brad being Brad. Hell, he even had a very strange conversation with Jake about stallions--or more specifically how one should never let a stallion go once one has acquired a stallion.

“Has the entire team been trying to get us together?” Matt asks, trying to make his voice as even as possible in light of dawning realization.

“Not the entire team,” Charlie objects. He replies so quickly that his sentence fuses into a single word-- _nottheentireteam._

“When I told Zee, Bergy might have also been there and you know where there is Bergy there is also Marchy.”

Matt can feel that his mind is about to explode.

“And also Pasta?”

“I was also um- a little drunk one time on the road, another time. You were home injured.”

Christ.

How many people has Charlie told?

A small, single part of him worries about all the ways this could have gone terribly. About all the ways Charlie could have gotten hurt, alarms going off in his head, telling him they both need to run for their life, as if the danger is still imminent.

But.

Pasta has been gifting them fedoras. The 37+63 contingent has been doing their best to inspire and Jake talking about stallions. Their captain has been trying to bring them together via carrots.

To say that theirs is a team of weirdos is an understatement, but clearly the most danger they are facing is overeating because Zee’s cooking is too delicious.

“Let’s tell them,” he says, grinning like the idiot that he is. “Just one question though--are we sure we want to stop Zee cooking for us?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> William and Pasta were like that "same hat!" comic, where one day they independently both wore fedoras and were both struck by how beautiful the other looked and fell in love there and then, thank you for coming to my TED talk.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading friends! Honestly, this fic started as a drabble and then got away from me--it probably contains more fluff than I have written before in the aggregate. If you liked the general silliness and snuggles, please drop me a word below. Comments are my life blood and what keep me coming back to write more. 
> 
> ALSO someone should write Charlie's side in all this!!
> 
> I'm also @blindbatalex on tumblr and my inbox is always open for prompts--this fic itself sprung from one such ask!


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